


Of Angels and Missed Dinner Reservations

by Unclesteeb



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Sam, Fluff, M/M, SamSteve Gift Exchange, Sexual Content, Smut, angel metaphors, paint, prayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unclesteeb/pseuds/Unclesteeb
Summary: Steve finds out a few things that night1.You can't paint a picture in thirty minutes2.Sam getsreally worriedwhen you don't show up to your dinner reservations3.Bucky somehow lost the memo where he always was supposed to have Steve’s back before 2014, because as soon as Sam gets home hesplits





	

This is all Bucky's fault.

 

When it happens, for just a minute Steve wishes that he'd never met Bucky Barnes ever in his entire life, then he instantly remembers _Hydra_ and _trauma_ and pretty quickly he starts to feel pretty guilty about it.

 

“Why do we even HAVE that lever?” Bucky asks, still gaping.

 

The lever in question is a direct route to Avengers tower’s trash chute. When you pull it, their little table in the kitchen flips over itself and all your trash falls down below to be sucked up for forever and ever and probably compacted then reused blah blah blah.

 

The lever flips their kitchen table. The very same table that Steve had just set down Sam’s anniversary gifts.

 

Steve breathes out nice and slow, forcing himself to remember that punching his best friend in the face wouldn't do much good for their situation. 

 

“For trash.” He says calmly. 

 

“Oh.” Bucky says. He screws his face up. “Well. Sam's gifts are in the trash.”

 

“Sam's gifts are in the trash.”

 

“Well that sucks.” 

 

Steve lets his hands flop at his sides. “Yep.”

 

“So what are you gonna get him now? You're supposed to meet him for dinner in a half hour.” Bucky says, kicking off his boots and flinging them into the middle of Steve's kitchen floor. “Oh! I know.” He snaps his fingers. “Paint him a picture!”

 

“In thirty minutes?”

 

Bucky gives a shrug and reaches over to snag a bag of chips off of Steve's microwave. “And counting.”

 

Steve finds out a few things that night:

 

1.You can't paint a picture in thirty minutes 

2.Sam gets _really worried_ when you don't show up to your dinner reservations 

3.Bucky somehow lost the memo where he always was supposed to have Steve’s back before 2014, because as soon as Sam gets home he _splits_

 

Which is how Steve finds himself sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, both covered in paint and with the official title of: 

 

**Steven Rogers: worst boyfriend of all time**

 

He's not proud.

 

“I can explain.” Is what he says when Sam walks into the room. He's not exactly proud of that either.

 

Sam's arms are instantly crossed. He purses his lips and murmurs, “mhm.”

 

“No seriously! I can!”

 

“You really think you're about to tell me a story that not only explains why you missed our anniversary dinner but had me worrying my ass off? Do you know I called Nat to ask her if we were supposed to have assembled? I had to do that. I had to call up the Black Widow and ask her if I didn't get invited to a superhero smashing party because I was left alone on my goddamn anniversary.”

 

“Uh,” 

 

Sam sits down next to Steve on the floor, raising  
an eyebrow. “So explain then, big guy.”

 

“Well- it's all Bucky's fault.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Yeah! See, he helped me come pick out your present today. When we got back here I set it down on the kitchen table and he pulled the lever. The trash one! Then he suggested I paint you a-. What are you smiling at?”

 

“You're painting wings.” 

 

“Well yeah I am because it's your present and I'm not even CLOSE to being done and we've gone and missed dinner and-”

 

Sam stops Steve with a finger pressed up firmly against his lips. “Shush. You're babbling how you always do when you're nervous about something. I'm trying to look at the painting.”

 

“Oh. Oh well, it's just a rough start. I haven't had much time to add in any real detail.”

 

“They're gorgeous.”

 

“Thank you.” Steve says, blushing. He scoots himself a little closer to Sam. “They're gorgeous just like you.”

 

Sam snorts and gives him a shove, “You're such a sap.”

 

“I can't help it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Just like how you can't help how you didn't hear your phone and stood me up to paint.”

 

Steve makes a low grown and Sam says, “Hey. I was kidding, okay? But on one condition.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“I want a back rub. A good one too. Use those big ass arms for something other than stopping helicopters and breaking your fall when I can't catch you.”

 

Steve grins. “I can do something even better.” 

 

 **Steve Rogers: worst boyfriend of all time** actually pushes his boyfriend so that he tips over on his side on their hardwood floors. Sam laughs and squeaks a little at the shove. Steve stands up and grabs two pillows from his side of the bed. He sets them down and gets Sam to lay on top of them. 

 

“Take off your shirt,” Steve intructs. 

 

Sam gives him a dubious look but does. Steve sits himself on top of Sam's thighs, using his own leg muscles to keep him from crushing Sam. The last thing he wants to do today is block the blood supply from Sam’s legs. He doesn't need any more bad titles.

 

“What are you doing?” Sam asks.

 

“I made you worry, now I'm going to make you relax.” 

 

Steve strokes up and down Sam's spine with his fingers, digging them in a little, rubbing out the tenses muscles. He rubs at Sam's shoulders after that and feels Sam’s body start to go lax. “I really am sorry.” Steve tells him. “I don't even know what happened to my sense of time.”

 

Sam huffs, “Keep doing this and maybe I'll forgive you.”

 

Steve gets out all the knots in Sam's neck, then works his hands down Sam's back, focusing his attention when he finds a taut muscle. Sam's eyes are closed against the pillow, his long, dark eyelashes casting shadows against it. 

 

“You're beautiful,” he says, because he can't help himself. Sam's mouth quirks into a smile. 

 

He keeps rubbing on Sam's back until Sam's just about turned into jelly. Steve thinks he might be asleep when his hands finally leave Sam's back. 

 

He leans over just enough to grab his paintbrush and gold paint. Sam questions, “What are you doing?”

 

Steve says, “Let me know if this tickles.”

 

He dips his paint brush into the paint and makes one long, curving stroke on Sam's right shoulder blade. Sam doesn't say anything, just sighs. It must feel good then. 

 

Steve keeps at it, trying his best to recreate his painting on Sam's back. He gives Sam gold and tan feathers that stretch from his spine to his shoulders. By the time he has to move off of Sam's thighs to go mix some silver paint, Sam's fast asleep. 

 

Steve takes a selfish moment to stare at him. He's absolutely stunning like this and Steve rarely gets to see it even though he normally wakes before Sam. There's not a single line of tension in Sam's body. Steve feels a surge of pride at that. There's nothing more he wants than to just make Sam feel loved and happy. He thinks about Sam being an actual angel as he adds silver to Sam's wings. Sam would make the perfect angel. Steve kind of thinks he is one already. He's suddenly remembers the prayer of Michael the Archangel, whispering the prayer between the commandos before they started off on their next mission. They prayed to St. Michael, always praying to the angels to help them and keep them safe so that they could return to the arms of their loved ones. _“Glorious Prince, chief and champion of the heavenly hosts; guardian of the souls of men; conqueror of the rebel angels! How beautiful art thou, in thy heaven-made armor. We love thee, dear Prince of Heaven!”_ Then his gut starts to twist up so he just focuses on the soft rise and fall of Sam's body with his gentle, sleeping breaths instead. 

 

Sam stirs again just as Steve's finishing up his last few brush strokes. He blinks sleepily and smacks his lips. “Did I fall asleep?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Wow,” Sam breathes. “I could go right back to sleep if I wasn't on the damn floor.”

 

Steve chuckles, “Hey. I create art wherever it strikes me. I think I improved upon your looks quite a bit.”

 

Sam mumbles something that sounds a lot like _Captain Asshole_ but he closes his eyes again and smiles. 

 

After a few more minutes Steve puts down his paintbrush and admires his work. Sam's wings are gorgeous, the colors of the feathers both coordinating and standing out. Steve's ridiculously overcome with just how gorgeous Sam is, how beautiful the skin is on his muscular back. He scoots down and kisses a paint-free part of it. Sam giggles underneath him so Steve nips the skin there as retribution. 

 

“Don't start something you can't finish.” Sam warns.

 

“I'm not the one taking a nap.” He kneads at Sam's ass through his jeans. “You're the one causing all kinds of trouble. Looking good enough to eat.”

 

“Put your money where your mouth is, then.”

 

“Lift up so I can.”

 

Steve reaches around Sam when he lifts his hips up. He slides off Sam's jeans and boxers in one go- touching Sam's soft cock purposefully as he does so. Sam lets out a little sigh at the contact. Steve spreads Sam's thighs so he can get in-between them. Sam's ass is full and round in his hands. He wants to bite it, so he does the next best thing. He spreads the cheeks with both of his hands and licks up the soft skin there. Sam shudders and gasps. Steve drops soft kisses and licks around Sam's hole. Sam's already so relaxed that the muscle relaxes and spreads for Steve's tongue. He fucks Sam with it the best he can, gripping Sam's hips tight as Sam gasps and moans, trying to fuck himself back and get more. 

 

Steve rubs at the skin of Sam's lower back, he feels the muscles clench and unclench. He could do this for hours if Sam would let him. 

 

Of course, that's when Sam says, “God just get inside me already,” because he's an impatient little shit and Steve loves him to hell and back.

 

Steve thinks of another prayer he heard once. _You broke past my deafness, You bathed me in Your Light, You sent my blindness reeling. You gave out such a delightful fragrance and I drew it in and came breathing hard after You. I tasted, and it made me hunger and thirst; You touched me, and I burned to know Your Peace._

 

“Just let me stay down here.” Steve says, hoping that it sounds as reverent as he feels. 

 

Sam looks back at him, eyebrows tight, biting sinfully on his lower lip. “I need you.” He says, quiet. He's still sleepy and lax and there's something about how he says the words that sets Steve's soul on fire. It kills him to have to get up to get the lube but he knows he has to

 

“You can have me.” He says, promises, when he returns. 

 

He adds fingers to the mix, listening to Sam whine as he gets him ready with his tongue and hands. “I got you,” he soothes before he leans down and licks into Sam's hole some more. 

 

He wishes he could take more time opening Sam up, but the way Sam's shoving himself back onto Steve's fingers has Steve's cock leaking inside his pants. He just wants to be inside and fuck. It's an all-encompassing want so he slides his fingers out and pulls down his own pants, his cock springing free. He slicks it up and then he's pushing inside. 

 

Stars burst behind Steve's vision when Sam tightens up around him. He makes a sleepy hum and shifts. Normally, Steve likes Sam on his back, his big brown eyes looking up into Steve's. But he likes Sam like this right now, painted with the wings Steve thinks he deserves. They shift when the muscles in his back ripple. 

 

Steve grips Sam's hips and keeps pushing in, in until he's bottomed out against Sam. He runs his fingers up and down Sam's paint-free spine and gives Sam a minute to adjust. 

 

“Steve,” Sam says on an exhale. 

 

“I got you.”

 

Steve starts to move inside Sam, feeling the drag of his cock inside him, loving it. Sam's brows are furrowed, his back arching, his strong arms keeping him upright off of the pillow. He's letting out little swears every time Steve pushes back inside of him. Steve quickens the pace and watches as Sam's arms start to shake. 

 

“Let me,” Steve moans. Sam shifts so that his chest is pressed flat to the floor and his face is on the pillow. His arms lie askew on the floor beside him. Steve can't help himself and starts fucking into Sam harder, tilting Sam's hips to hit all the right spots inside of him. 

 

“Fuck, Steve.” Sam groans after his body jolts on a particularly perfect thrust. “Take me, harder.”

 

Steve swears then grips the back of Sam's neck, wrapping his fingers just slightly around the front-not rough enough to be possessive, just enough to hold it, grip it tight. It makes Sam gasp and push his ass back like he can get Steve even deeper still. Steve does what Sam's asked for and drives his hips harder, quickens the pace just slightly. He has to let go of the back of Sam's neck to brace himself on the floor with both hands next to Sam's. Sam moves his fingers just slightly to intertwine with the ones on Steve's right hand. Sam's so sweet. It makes Steve want to cry. He chokes out a moan instead. 

 

Sam's moans pitch higher, get quieter in the way that Steve knows means he's about to come. “Come on, Sam.” He says, “let me see, let me feel.”

 

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” Sam chants, breathless. 

 

“That's it,” Steve aims his thrusts right, gets Sam right where he needs. In no time at all Sam's whining then crying out, coming all over the floor and Steve's pillow placed underneath his hips. He tightens up around Steve's dick and it's so perfect, so fucking good that Steve's helpless to do anything but spill inside of him, clutching at Sam's fingers and moaning long and low. 

 

Steve kisses at Sam's shoulders when they're done shaking through it. The paint’s dry now. Sam looks gorgeous as ever, skin shiny with a bit of sweat along with the golds and silvers of his wings.

 

“I love you,” Steve whispers

 

***

 

Steve gets them both cleaned up and into bed for the night. Sam's smiling and sated as Steve climbs into bed next to him. They lie facing each other for a while, looking at each other like real dopes. 

 

“Do you forgive me now?”

 

“I thought it was all Bucky's fault.”

 

“It is, but it didn't turn out so bad, right?”

 

Sam laughs softly, “Not at all. Happy anniversary.”

 

Steve kisses him, “Happy anniversary, baby.”

 

When Sam's asleep, Steve stays awake, just to look at him. He really is sent from heaven, Steve decides. If he keeps from messing up any more anniversary plans, maybe he won't be the world’s worst boyfriend after all.

 

He kisses Sam's painted shoulder again, and prays softly into his skin, _“Dear Angel, ever at my side, how lovely you must be, to leave your home in heaven to guard a child like me. When I'm far away from home or may be hard at play, I know you will protect me from harm along the way.”_

 

He breathes in and out, smelling Sam all around him. He closes his eyes and promises, “I'm never missing a dinner reservation again.”

 

He swears he feels Sam laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> For [ the amazing falcondiment ](falcondiment.tumblr.com)for the samsteve gift exchange!!
> 
> Follow me on [ Tumblr. ](Unclesteeb.tumblr.com)


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